


White Light in Your Arms

by aucrio



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound - Freeform, Gen, Ghost Hunter AU, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur, Hunter Sapnap, Hurt/Comfort, Karl Jacobs & Sapnap - Freeform, Karl Jacobs Centric, Karl Jacobs Needs a Hug, Karl Jacobs whump, M/M, More characters to be added as the story progresses - Freeform, Nephil Karl Jacobs, Piglin Technoblade, Unknown Dream, Wilbur and Techno are adopted brothers, especially Karl, i'm god awful at summaries i'm so sorry, more tags to be added soon, or is it...., ship or platonic, the major character death is wilbur don't worry, they'll all need hugs in this, this can be interpreted in any way you want honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aucrio/pseuds/aucrio
Summary: "Pretty little angel, what has happeed to your wings? They're matted with the grace of the Heaven that has failed you."Karl has never found beauty in gold. Bright, gleaming yellows that pales his skin, he has always preferred the silvers of the moon to the glows of the sun. So that's why he finds himself slipping in the shadows the silvers provides. However, shadows hides things never meant for the light; and that's why the prayers ripped from his chest can no longer provide shelter beneath their wings. Now Karl must face the trail of gold dragged out by the cross burning scriptures in his past."C'mon little dove, where's your God now?"Inspired by this tumblr post: https://wildfaewhump.tumblr.com/post/624938327705026560/enrapture-encore-the-idea-may-not-be-something-i*HIATUS until February 4th! Sorry!*
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	White Light in Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so disclaimer: This can be interpreted either as platonic or relationship wise hence the tags. I don't particularly mind either way.
> 
> Also, please don't mention this to any CC.
> 
> I haven't written a multi chapter fic in two years so I'll need to get into the swing of updating every few weeks, please bear with me!

A soft halo of gold curls above his head. They twist underneath his unruly locks and winds between the untamed swirls. Intertwining with the nest of copper, the setting sun plummets slowly down the horizon with the promise of tomorrow hanging by a thread. It’s light stretches beyond his comprehension, swallowed by the brooding bodies of manmade pillars and a history written in the pavement. If he wanted, he could weave a story from the crevices alone; tell how the the scuffed tire track printed in the pebbles is from a five year old boy skidding down the sidewalk on his training bike; reveal the tale of a woman pounding down the streets at witching hour to confess the heartache she felt as her world burnt for another; bring to light of a hunched figure cowering beneath the busted lamppost and how they melted into the safety of the dark, out of reach of his human eyes but not _his_ eyes. He could. Instead– he tucks a leg under the other and sways to the beat of the city’s heart.

He curls his hands into a fist. The purpling fingertips are stark against the paling flesh. Clenching harder, the purple fades to a brilliant pink. It matches with the rosey brush along the horizon. As soon as the tension melts with the hours of dusk, the purple rises again, angry and violent. He pulls his sleeves over his hands and clasps them on top of his knee. He rests his chin against his sweater paws and merely watches as the tangerine clouds are picked from the navy abyss. They’re replaced with wisps of mist stolen from his lungs; smeared across the sky with gentle strokes, the clouds roll by in silent procession.

In this moment, he just _is;_ not a roaring hurricane whipping down houses to build his own defences; not jittering limbs twisted into a broken prayer; he just is– spiralling between his flesh and blood, and righteous grace.

“It’s cold up here.”

He doesn’t twitch as a body presses against him. He exhales, even though he doesn’t need to. “You know it doesn’t bother me, right?”

The man snorts, “Alright, Elsa.” Despite the fact, he wraps an arm around his shoulders, bearing the heat his body exudes. There’s a ghost of a smile on Karl’s lips.

“How’d you find me?”

“Ghostbur is rather observant.” Sapnap replies, gaze gliding across the setting sun. He shifts, his own humanness betraying him as an oncoming shiver sneaks up his spine.

Karl notices and places a gentle hand on his knee, transferring a wave of warmth to his friend. Sapnap stiffens, but soon relaxes and returns the gesture by squeezing his shoulder. His leg is still tense beneath Karl’s palm, and so the other allows his touch to fall beside the space between them. He pretends to not notice the subtle shifting of Sapnap’s leg to graze his purple fingertips. Appreciation blooms in his chest.

“Observance is a ghost’s intuition.” Karl remarks offhandedly. “It’s not like they have nothing else to do besides float between above and below.”

Sapnap hums, “Never would’ve guessed the afterlife was so eventful.”

“You’d be amazed at what fuels their own proclivities,” Karl replies, eyes becoming glossy with remembrance. The fog in his eyes is swallowed by his own ghosts, a sheet of white engulfing the steel colour. His mouth spills sentences against his own accord, not that he acknowledges it. “they don’t need a house to haunt. As long as their tenacity is strong enough to provoke the anger in their being...”

Sapnap watches as Karl snaps his mouth shut and the sheet of his past is tucked back. It’s routine by now, something Sap has witnessed on too many occasions; and in those moments of vulnerability in which Karl is bearing scars that glimmer in the darkest of nights with his cornflower grace searing unsaid prayers into his bones, Sapnap sits back and just watches. He does not push for he is too scared to wring out hellfire from those memories– a monster he isn’t equipped to handle quite yet.

Karl carries on as if nothing happened, “That cloud looks like you.”

“Hmm?” Sapnap blinks and turns his focus back to his friend.

Karl points towards a cloud in the distance. In the dying light, he could barely make out the hapless shapes the world has offered.

“Ah yes, the shape that is barely visible because it’s ass o’clock in the evening and my human eyes are God’s mistake compared to yours,” Sap agrees, a thoughtful wisp to his words.

Karl barks a laugh, light and airy– he only laughs like that when he tries to forget. As much as that fact pains him, Sap likens it to the copper glow gracing the fluffiness on his head. Karl shoves his shoulder and snorts, “it looks like a penis, Sap.”

Sapnap splutters and squints at the fading shape above. The vague outline of the cloud proves Karl right, and Sapnap punches his shoulder in retaliation. “I come up here to provide some Sapnap loving, and you repay me by indirectly calling me a dick? Low blow, Jacobs.”

“Your presence has done the opposite, in fact,” Karl rolls his eyes, unaffected by the assault on his shoulder. The pang he should feel is absent. It merely feels like the brush of a feather. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side.”

“Now that’s just mean,” Sapnap retorts, pausing his thwacking to cross his arms. Like a child, he pouts exaggeratedly and huffs.

Karl grins, a real grin this time, and replies as soft as the touch he felt when Sapnap abused his shoulder, “I’m sorry– love you.” The hand resting between them finds its way back to Sapnap’s knee and squeezes once again.

The pout framing his face is replaced with a shit eating smile. His arms falter, one finding their way around Karl’s shoulder while the other pats the former’s hand. “You’re such a softie, you know that, right?”

Sapnap doesn’t need to say it. Karl always knows.

The ‘ _you too’_ hangs between them, dancing with the opaque tendrils slithering through their lips. They sit in companionable silence as the world moves with them. Soon the sun is replaced by it’s skeleton; the rattle of it’s bones present in the silent tunes it carries with it. Flakes of it’s marrow speckle the void, bringing life to the death of the day.

It’s dark, this time. Sapnap can barely see in front of him if it weren’t for the amber glow of the lamp-posts guarding the street. However, Karl can see clearly the monsters that lurk from the comfort of it’s sins. The silhouettes of the world below are swallowed by the darkness the death of day brought. It’s reapers croak in between the grooves of the trees; the fissures in the glass panes of the abandoned house at the end of the block. The sound oozes from the wound that has been picked and scabbed over and over again; and just like that, he is there again.

The sting the gloom brings is all too familiar. The suffocating pinch alights his skin, laps at the ghosting fingertips stroking the glistening fawn that seeps through his pores. With all breath being squeezed out of him, his grace pours out in a violent wave. There’s a knot in his throat, an ugly jagged wire balled and shoved through his teeth. They chatter against his own accord and Karl can only clench his jaw and twitch in his seat lest he draw the peaceful silence away by his own weakness.

The blanket draped over the sky is falling, flailing limbs and abstract shapes. They contort into beings from below; mold into glass nails with the stain of their mistakes writ large under their skin. Karl sits in the middle of it all as the world succumbs to it’s own humanity.

“Hey, let’s head inside.”

Karl is brought out of his thoughts by the tug of his drawstring. He turns to look at Sapnap whose own umber eyes glisten in the moonlight. His reflection shimmers faintly in the concern pooling in his friend’s eyes. He can make out the obscured outline of his person, stiff and pale underneath Sap’s regard. He inhales deeply and smiles softly.

“Yeah, I‘m sure your puny ass is frozen by now,” he starts to his feet. He stretches out the kinks in his joints and offers a hand to Sapnap.

The latter pauses momentarily, roaming far too deep in his thoughts to notice Karl frown and nudge him softly. In a flash, he grabs Karl’s outstretched hand and heaves himself to his feet. Karl doesn’t budge an inch at the sudden weight pulling him down; merely watches with a shit eating grin as he easily yanks Sapnap to his feet. Sap stumbles into him with an ‘ _oof_ ’.

“You know, I’m never getting used to that,” Sapnap grumbles, gathering himself together. His hands find their way into his pockets to accumulate warmth.

Karl snorts, “ _Wow_ ~ and we’ve known each other for how long?”

“In my defence, we don’t see your kind every day,” Sapnap retorts with a roll of his eyes.

There’s a gleam of something indistinguishable in Karl’s eyes, but before Sapnap could process what is it, Karl punches his shoulder, hiding his face with the shadows the night offers.

“Because you have God’s mistake for your eyes,” he teases with a lilt to his voice. The moonlight illuminates the mischief swirling in the cerulean and smog of laughter.

“Keep talking like that and we’re going to have a problem,” Sapnap ripostes.

“Ooh what’cha gonna do– light me on fire? Threaten me with your angel blade?” Karl teases, getting in his face. His face hurts from grinning.

Sapnap flushes, a soft pink hue illuminating beneath the nightly glow. “Alright, asshole– I think your grace is running a little low right now.”

“Hey! Now you’re being mean,” Karl pouts.

“Asshole, asshole,” Sapnap sing-songs. He flicks Karl in the forehead. “Dumb asshole– Karl Jacobs is a dumb asshole.”

“Shut up, nimrod,” Karl rejoins. He bites back a smile as Sapnap gasps exaggeratedly.

“What did you say?”

“You’re the nimrod this month is named after,” Karl razzes with no heat behind his words.

Sapnap places an offended hand over his heart, eyes wide to display the mock hurt he feels. Karl’s face is as pink as his multicoloured hoodie as he barks a laugh.

“You smug little—”

And hands are skittering up and down his neck and waist, stealing his breath and shaking his lungs. Karl couldn’t help but be thankful for the distraction from his thoughts, as much as the action has him wistfully ignorant to his surroundings. The ache in his head from the roaring of water is replaced with an ache in the shape of a man whose hands are occupied with keeping him squealing. His laughter dissolves in the air, melting into the night with traces of it fading with the soft clouds.

“What’s taking you guys so long?”

The tickling-fest is put on pause by Wilbur’s quiet gravelling. The low saturated colours of the ghost glows from the spot where he’s passing through the roof. Between their feet, Wilbur’s glazed eyes shift between them, a soft, tired squint to reveal the humour he finds in this situation.

“Shit!”

“Jesus!”

“Not quite, but thank you,” Wilbur answers, a hint of a laugh at the edge of his voice. He turns to Sapnap, one brow raised in questioning. “I thought we told you to bring him back in, not take him on a rooftop date.”

“This isn’t a date,” Karl frowns, “if it was, there’d be a fire, a hospital bill, and an assault charge.”

Sapnap tickles his neck and Karl squeals, pushing himself away from the offending hands.

“Well whatever you youngins call it these days, can wait. Dream is wondering what you two are up to and it's been hours since we sent Sapnap,” Wilbur explains. His voice carries through the night like a broken harp; reberating, jagged strings that had been pulled taunt from abuse. Both living parties had wondered what their friend’s voice was like when he had walked the earth.

“I wouldn't say hours– more like prolonged minutes,” Karl defends, “and youngins? Sheesh, we know you're old, but not that old.”

“I’ll have you know I passed at the ripe age of twenty-two– the age of a certain nephilim mind you,” Wilbur appears further from the floor so that he's shoulder up. The glower pinching his face is enough to make the aforementioned nephilim smile sheepishly. “it’s never too early to bite the dust.”

“Thank you for that horrifying epiphany. I'd like my childhood back, please,” Sapnap groans, rubbing his hands over his face. The hue on his cheeks glow a rosey red; either from the cold or the jarring realization.

“Sorry– my ghostful ramblings cost a fortune. Your childhood is the only expense you can offer me,” Wilbur jests.

“You can’t give away what you never had,” Karl retorts. He's already starting his way to the door propped open with his spare shoe before Sapnap could wring his neck. Wilbur’s laughter resembles a cough, but the warm edge to his tone reveals only mischief. Sapnap’s disgruntled ‘ _hey_!’ is whisked away by the squeaking hinges of the motel rooftop door.

“Jacobs, you get back here!”

“You gotta catch me, _Sapitus_.” And with that, Karl takes off down the stairs with a shoe in hand and a hunter cursing from above.

The stairwell is condensed into a narrow, cemented tower– freakishly cold with a pale, buzzing light hanging from above. The humming illuminance paints the grey interior a musty shade of yellow, a striking contrast to the darkness outside adorned by it’s own superficial light source. Still, the vapour from his huffs clouds around him then disappears as quickly as it came. He heaves himself on to the metal railing and sails down stairs just as the exit door flies open, a bemused Sapnap stumbling through with the apparition of Wilbur bobbing behind.

“Get back here you little shit!”

The creak of the stairs and shuffling of Sap’s shoes echoes in the stairwell, disrupting the somberance it had wallowed in. Karl is just about to hit the landing before he leaps from the end of the railing, soaring towards the second floor exit door. With one mighty grunt, he shoves himself through the fire exit.

He’s violently reminded of why this motel is quite abandoned. The nauseating smell permeating from decades of traveling hits him in the face. The hint of December air lingers in it’s scent, but it’s too light to distract himself from the gasoline and cheap cleaning supplies. The neon light of the establishment is just as sickly as the stairwell bulbs; a horrifying magenta topped with iridescent blue. _The Firefly_ blinks towards the vacant streets with looping fonts at the bottom spelling out the availability. He doesn’t need to squint to see it say twelve rooms available. Only three are occupied.

“Karl!”

The thudding footsteps kicks Karl into action. He sprints down the hall towards the mellow music flowing from the last door to his left. He unlocks the door with a flick of his wrist and staggers in with the grace of a broken ballerina.

Dream sits propped against the headboard, a laptop in hand, and bundled in blankets. Techno lounges by the window fiddling with the TV remote. The two look up in perfect sync as the resounding click and muffled shouting disturbs their peace. Karl leans against the door trying to fix his windswept hair. He locks eyes with them and offers a bashful smile, “Hi.”

“I take it your date went well,” Dream grins.

“How were the stars in his eyes? As dreamy as you thought it’d be?” Techno’s dull drawl is laced with teasing. He frowns at the dead remote in his hands and shakes it.

“What– jealous are you?” Karl responds easily. He smooths out the crinkles in his hoodie and points an accusing finger at Techno. “and I’m not letting you go that easy with the puns. Dad jokes are Wilbur’s thing.”

The door thuds, but neither parties react to the muted exclamations of their missing hunter. Karl doesn’t budge from his spot at the door, merely knocks in different bursts to drown out the other. It vaguely sounds like morse code, but the only one to catch the message is Dream who stifles a wheeze.

“He’s dead, his rights along with him,” Techno replies right after. Remote still dead in hand, he sighs, “on the topic of death, it’s dead.”

“Did you even check the batteries?” Dream raises a brow at him. “you’ve only been shaking it and cursing in Piglin.”

“Of course I checked the batteries. I’m not an imbecile,” Techno frowns. The twitch of his tusks say otherwise and they know so.

“Give it to me.” Karl stretches out his hand and easily catches the remote. He slides off the back and erupts into another laughing fit. Voice nearing another octave, he manages to wheeze before gasping for another breath, “because there _aren’t_ any batteries, Techno.”

Dream follows suit in doubling over as the Piglin crosses his arms, turning his face towards the open window. “Okay, okay I get it. I’m still not familiar with this whole ‘modern’ thing.”

“Please just leave the tech to us, hmm?” Dream pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. His chest still stutters to breathe as he tries gathering himself back together.

“Hey– Sapnap is second away from Bruce Lee’ing the door,” Wilbur pokes his head through the door, brushing through Karl’s cheek.

The reaction is instantaneous. Karl flinches wildly, hands raised defensively to ward off the incoming panic that is wretched from his chest. Through wide, electric eyes, alarm strikes the match burning between his breastbones. The fire bursts, scalding the inside of its cage and tearing its way up his throat. He chokes on the smoke engulfing him whole, a hand wrapped around his throat to cut off the screams that haunt the cavities in his defences. He mouths listlessly, trying to form assurances, but the heat won’t go away. It melts his tongue and loosens his teeth. His gums are bleeding and sodder his mouth shut with his own flesh. All he can do is hope for the hellfire to never reach his veins.

“Karl! C’mon man, you’re not there anymore.”

And just like that, the match is smoldered by the comfort of a black jumper too thin to fight the rooftop air. Frigid, calloused hands clasp over his, fighting the nails digging wounds into his neck. Karl blinks, the electricity in his eyes fading with the heat surrendering back to their corners, and sucks in a breath.

He’s pressed against the wall with a solid, comforting body obstructing his vision of the room. Wide eyes decorated with the world’s richest soil has a seed of worry blossoming with the accompanied agitation. The hunter’s lips move heavily, forming words lost to the buzzing swarming in Karl’s head.

“‘m fine,” Karl manages to mumble, pushing the hands away. He doesn’t remember his own matching the rosy hue of the horizon or the trembling branches bullied by the wind.

Sapnap lets his hands hover between them, twitching to reach out and smother the fire the lightning in Karl’s eyes had set. He watches attentively as the nephilim shifts awkwardly under the group’s concern. He frowns. “You’re not.”

Karl looks up, the static of blue crackling in his defence. “I am, it was just… I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Dream’s voice is softer than ever. He hovers over Sapnap’s shoulder a few feet away, his mask pushed up to reveal the freckled face of the other human in the room. The small gesture doesn’t go unnoticed, and for that, Karl supplies a weak smile.

He nods dazedly, still too far in his head to form any other coherent sentence. Words rattle in his head, but they’re not his. These hurt, they burn; they carve broken prayers in the crevices of his being and lock him in his own mind. They float between his teeth and scrape the insides of his mouth, shredding his tonsils and scarring his cheeks. They write nightmares upon nightmares while Mr. Sandman remains blissful to the ashes tainting his golden dust.

Karl subconsciously fiddles with the hefty ring burning his pinky finger. The familiar weight teeters him back to earth– despite the story as thick as the blood spilt in his name. The gold jewlery is warm and smooth beneath the crackling fingertips. A wavering finger runs along the head, jumping over worn diamonds and pressing against the claws holding it in place. The prickle is nothing but a distant memory; and yet, it is everything new. He sucks in a breath as the jut of a diamond catches his finger and he bleeds.

“Fine,” Karl nods. His head hurts. He stuffs the pricked hand in his pocket and gestures around the room, “show’s over, why don’t we head to bed? We have an early start tomorrow.”

Sapnap frowns, hands now finding home curled at his chest. Dream nods, albeit apprehensively and starts towards the washroom. Techno hasn’t moved from his chair. The only indication that the hybrid has even twitched is that he has pivoted his shoulders a centimetre from his previous position and his tusks are hidden by his undone braid. Wilbur is the furthest from them all. The friendly apparition wavers dangerously close to transparency, his eyes a snowy white compared to the usual brown. The grey skin is pulled taunt to reveal the bones withering beneath the summer yellow jumper. He doesn’t dare look up at Karl, merely fiddles with the lampshade busted at his feet.

Karl can hear the horrors swimming in his head. His own ghosts and anxieties fill his essence and haunt the hollow of his skull, shrieking obsenties into the waters pulling him down. Karl makes a move towards him, but Wilbur perks up the second his feet shuffle along the carpet. The ghost stumbles back, torso passing through the wall before he staggers back in and solidifies. The white irises flicker between it’s usual umber brown, the charcoal stoking the smothering fire nestled in the pit of his stomach, and white as the bones protruding through his wrists.

“I’m very sorry, Karl,” Wilbur’s eyes settle on a pale brown. The low saturation becomes brighter and the transparency of his essence starts to solidify. The grey tint is replaced with pale skin and wily mop of curls. He beams, albeit small and full of sorrow. “I didn’t think you’d be behind the door. I forgot to make sure first, I’m so sorry I…” His hands flit in the air trying to gather the words escaping him. “H-Here! Take some blue, hmm?”

Fluttering hands pull out a red velvet baggie from the creases of his pants. He quickly undraws the string and picks out a blue petal unsullied by its home. With delicate fingers, a history of picked strings and whimsical thoughts controlling his tremors, he glides across the distance separating them and plops the blue in Karl’s hands.

Karl rubs the petal between his fingers, eyes replicating the gift in his hands. It’s a brilliant cobalt, drowned by the neon magenta spilling through the broken blinds. He looks back at Wilbur and smiles, “It’s okay, Wilbur. I really appreciate it.”

The solid figure of Wilbur beams brighter. He pats Karl gently on the shoulder then fades back to his intangible state. He drifts back once the pewter hue rises and finds his place back in the corner, floating through the turned over lampshade. He sits down and pulls out a leather notebook from under the bed. He flips open to a blank page and begins scribbling stories of vacant houses filled with childlike wonder and histories to do with overthrown leaders.

Dream is done now and is touselling his hair before climbing into bed. The running water roaring behind the closed doors indicate it’s Sapnap turn washing away the journey of their day. Karl finds a spot by the window, across from Techno, and leans back in the sturdy chair. The Piglin is slumped in his spot, his red coat blanketing him from the chill seeping through the window. His pink hair is braided back and his tusks are peeking above the makeshift blanket. Alone with his thoughts, Karl thumbs the petal between his thumb and index.

Minutes pass and Sapnap emerges from the washroom in a fresh pair of pyjamas. He shakes Techno awake before making his way to his side of the bed. Passing Karl on the way, he squeezes his shoulder. The gesture reminds him of their moment on the rooftop. Karl pats Sap’s hand, squeezing back. Warmth blooms in his chest, not hot enough to stoke the dying embers, but enough to scare away the cold. Unsaid words are exchanged underneath the scrunitiny of the room’s dimness and the neon lights sneaking inside.

_“You’ll be okay?”_

_“Always.”_

With that, Sapnap pulls away and heads to bed. Techno shuts the door and Karl is alone in a room full of beating hearts.

He doesn’t need sleep, and yet fatigue tugs at his eyelids. He rolls his shoulders and mindlessly toys with the petal. Techno comes out ten minutes later with his braid undone and hair fanning behind him in looping swoops. Karl perks up and places the gift carefully on the table-- almost as if any sudden movement may wittle the petal. He goes to unzip his pack and finds a pair of comfortable clothes before entering the washroom.

“The water is a bit cold now, sorry,” Techno whispers softly from his spot beside the window.

“It’s fine. Sleep well, Techno,” Karl nods before shutting the door.

He runs on autopilot. The cold water washes away the day. The peach scented soap clings to his body as he hastily scrubs away any grime left by memories new and old. Dissociating from the tasks at hand, he finishes the fastest and he quickly tugs on a thin long sleeve and sweatpants. He doesn’t dare glance at the mirror, even if the poor lighting has disguised his golden glow with it’s own shadows.

Emerging from the washroom, he is greeted by the low hum of the motel pipes and the rumbled snores of his best friend. He stuffs his clothes into his pack and slowly dips into his space beside Sapnap. The hunter has already fallen victim to the night, leaving Karl to bask in the quietness the room offers. Wilbur is nowhere to be seen, not that it’s surprising. He always took these opportunities to wander through the area, searching for stories lost in the noise. What remains of him is the notebook he has kept with him for God knows how long. The leather book is propped against the corner of the room with the lamp protecting it from harm.

Karl exhales lightly before shifting deeper into the covers. His thoughts run, fuelled by the Grace burning in his veins. The twitching feeling to do more, to let himself lose and run rampant, plagues his every move. He turns to look out the window, tracing the visible outlines of the other rooms with troubled eyes. The night rolls by as obsessive thoughts press bruises under his eyes and aches deep in his skin.

With every passing minute, the blue petal lies still and cold, tainted by the golds of Heaven and painted by Hell’s rings. The glimmer of gold never ceases its twinkling underneath the night sky’s light.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the first chapter! The ending needs a bit of work, but I'll edit the whole thing once it's finished.


End file.
